Lone Survivor
by Lost Lantean
Summary: The plantation house offered shelter and supply, the voice on the radio promised rescue. All they had to do was survive until the boat came to get them. Such a simple thing, such a high cost.


Nick jumped unto the boats rocking deck and shouted to Virgil, the boat's captain, to go. The slow pace of the acceleration was what he had in mind when he told the captain to floor it and with a curse he fired into the mass of infected that tried to follow. Some fell with a splash into the water. A tank tried to throw half the dock at him but thankfully missed. The ranks of infected thinned as the boat reached deeper water. Emotion forced him to keep firing, the pounding of the machine gun in his ears drowning out the throaty sound of the boats engine as it pushed the craft into the river. The screeches of the infected faded with distance, finally disappearing altogether though the change was inaudible to Nick. Or it was until the click of an empty mag was met with the sound of ruffling and the realization that he had no more ammo. The relative silence combined with the sound of the engine made him realize how tired he was.

Exhausted and safe, Nick dropped down onto the deck and tossed the now worthless gun away. Sobbing as the gun clattered and slid until it bumped the edge of a stairway, he pulled the pistol out of its holster and looked at it. Turning it around over and over in his hands, the features of the weapon were indistinct, blurred by the freely falling tears in his eyes. Ticking off the safety he looked down the barrel of the weapon and wondered. He couldn't make out the bullet that sat in the chamber, the bullet that would end his life in an instant if he would only pull the trigger. He squeezed his eyes shut and memory flooded into the void left by the light he shut out. The gun in his hands wavered as his whole body shook under the force of his recent memories.

Coach had been first. He was manning the heavy machine gun mounted to the balcony and mowing down the infected coming in from the sides. But the noise... The gun was so loud and combined with the racket from the survivors weapons... Coach hadn't heard Rochelle's shout of tank. With single minded ferocity it ignored the bullets from Nick, Rochelle and Ellis to grab him. When it reached him, tt threw him off the balcony and jumped down to get to him again. No one needed to see coach land to know he wouldn't be getting up on his own. After sprinting into the house and down the stairs all three moved with purpose.

Fueled by anger and rage, the survivors mercilessly poured fire into the tank while running towards it. The combined firepower was enough to bring it down but everyone knew that all the bullets in the world would never revive the fallen. Coach's shattered bone and torn flesh didn't stop Rochelle from ripping the aid kit off of her back and tearing it open. A hand and pained expression did, Coach looked up at her and told her to save that kit for herself. She knelt down and he weakly resisted, groaning in pain as he did so. With an understanding and sorrowful nod towards Coach, Nick and Ellis dragged Rochelle away from him. Struggling to break free, Rochelle yelled at the two men who were leaving their friend to die. She stopped resisting when her scream of anguish was met with the screech of hunger from another wave of infected. Together the three scrambled up to the balcony to make another stand against the infected.

Rochelle was the next loss. It started when Ellis threw one of the gas cans over the railing and shot it in the air, putting down a wall of fire that covered one approach to the balcony. With that taken care of he joined the shooting gallery, picking off infected that tried to climb the columns to reach the second story. Rochelle's shout of "reloading" turned his attention to covering the doorway back into the house. She acknowledged him with a curt nod then slammed a fresh clip into her M16. Minutes later the yard was clear except for the dying light of the gasoline fire Ellis had ignited.

No one checked the burned area as the group exited the house to pick up more ammo. Perhaps the loss of Coach coupled with Rochelle's cold bitterness caused us to let our guard down. Whatever it was, we missed the hunter that was waiting for the flames to die down and it didn't miss us. It pounced on Ellis and pinned him to the ground. I had to do something and ran over, hitting it hard on the head with the butt of my rifle. The crack was a satisfying sound as the hunter fell down and Ellis scrambled to get up. Rochelle took aim and fired, scowling as the ineffective click of her weapon signaled a jam. I'd heard soldiers say that was always the loudest sound on the battlefield. I'd never understood that until today.

The hunter snapped its attention to her and jumped, knocking her down and pinning her underneath himself. I raised and aimed my weapon as it raised its claw. The sound of my weapon firing almost drowned out the sound of Rochelle's scream as the creature's sharp hand tore into her unprotected stomach. Blood sprayed everywhere, splatter from the bullets ripping through the hunter's body mingling with castoff from the creatures claws and spurts from the cut arteries. The only consolation to her death was that she bled out quickly. The sound of the approaching boat pulled both Ellis and I back to reality. The sound of infected screeching gave a renewed sense of urgency.

We grabbed as much ammo as we could carry and prepared ourselves to run to the approaching boat. But he wouldn't make it. Infected poured over the house, attracted to only God knows what about our departure. We ran for it, ignoring everything in favor of running backwards and shooting everything we were running away from. I didn't see the smoker. I certainly felt it's tongue wrap around me. I screamed and Ellis hit the pink rope-like appendage causing it to slacken. I quickly turned and pulled my pistols, the combat rifle I had before being caught now lost. Firing as fast as I could, I covered Ellis while he dispatched the smoker then ran with him towards our waiting escape.

We approached the dock and had real hope of escape, the extra energy that gave the two of us was amazing though short-lived. Two tanks roared as they smashed their way through the lesser infected in search of an easy meal. Seeming to realize it wasn't going to catch us in time, one stopped and ripped a boulder out of the ground to throw. Ellis shoved me out of the way, falling down in the process. How he didn't scream when the boulder landed on his legs I'll never know. A shout told me he'd be right behind me. He lied. Pinned by the bounder he pulled out the last pipe bomb and activated it. The sound of the smoke alarm was like music and a small smile hit my lips as the infected massed around the noisemaker. Still backpedaling, I watched as the bomb exploded and created a veil of red mist and flying body parts. I jumped unto the boat and screamed for the captain to go, to floor it and get the hell out of here. Only then did I realize that Nick wasn't actually beside me. I fired into the horde, blasting away at the horde in my anger and guilt and grief.

I open my eyes, the light stinging as I see the glint of my own weapon still pointed shakily at my head. My friends are gone and I wish I could join them. Away from the hellish world that this supposed flu had created I hope they find peace. And I wonder why I feel this way. I know it's because we had to work so closely to survive, that the fire of the fight forges bonds stronger than most would understand. But I don't understand why it happened to me. Why did I choose to save Ellis from the first infected we had encountered. Sure he was a business acquaintance, his mechanical skills handy for the scam I was running at the time. Perhaps that was the reason, I figured I'd need his expertise.

Then why save coach? Of course it wasn't my decision, Ellis was the bleeding heart that had to stop for him. He should have only slowed us down but he added some much needed firepower and didn't mind carrying ammo. Then Rochelle. Coach couldn't let her go alone after her news crew had been killed. Of course the fact that she had the keys to the van and was female didn't hurt. In the _real_ world I'd have scammed them for whatever I needed and left them penniless and stranded without looking back or feeling remorse. Now? Now, I wonder how I'll go on without them. I hit the safety on the pistol. But I can't kill myself either. All this world will ever have to remember them by now is me. I have to live.


End file.
